


Souvenirs

by misspamela



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	Souvenirs

"It's your turn, Major."

"Is it that time already?"

Dr. Weir crossed the briefing room and leaned on the table just next to where John was sitting. "Frankly, I'm a little surprised. Everyone else has been chomping at the bit to get home for a while."

John shrugged. He did want to go back to Earth. Someday. He missed driving. And really good sushi. Rock-climbing. Guinness. "I guess things are quiet enough around here for now."

"Everett and Ford can handle anything that comes up, and you'll be just a short trip away."

"If you can call the Pegasus Galaxy a 'short trip'."

"We can now." She got up and pointed towards the door in the direction of the Stargate. "You and McKay are going out on the next round of shore leave. Consider it an order."

"Good. Maybe McKay will stop bitching about not being able to go yet."

"We can only hope."

&gt;&gt;&gt;

Going back to Earth was almost like any other Stargate trip; a little longer, and a lot more dizzying. He was slightly disoriented when he came out on the other side, and he stumbled into a young Airman waiting for him on the ramp.

"Welcome home, sir." He snapped a quick salute at John.

"At ease, Airman."

General O'Neill walked up the ramp, with his hands in his uniform pockets, and a carefully casual look on his face. "Nice flight?"

John shook his head to clear it. "That's nothing like flying, sir."

O'Neill smiled. "Good point."

Sheppard heard McKay come through the gate. He turned to see him wobble out of the event horizon and walk smack into Lt. Col. Carter. John couldn't hear them, but could tell that Rodney was giving himself an aneurysm trying to apologize. Carter just smiled and hugged him. Heh. That'd shut him up for a good solid three seconds.

"Why do geeks get all the cute chicks?" O'Neill asked, leading him down the ramp.

Sheppard hefted his bag over his shoulder, tuning out the activity bustling around him. He was on Earth. Home. "Yeah, I never figured that one out myself."

"What ever happened to the good, old-fashioned appeal of a man in uniform?" O'Neill sighed.

John was about to point out that McKay did, in fact, have a uniform, when Rodney rushed up to him. "Hey, you leaving? Of course you're leaving. Here." He thrust a piece of paper at John. "That's my home address and phone number. Just in case."

Rodney glanced quickly back at Carter and said, "Just, you know, don't call unless it's an emergency. And I'll be visiting my sister from Wednesday to Saturday. Hey!" He brightened. "Speaking of which, do you think you could swing by and feed my cat? I'd ask Amber, but she's probably sick of him by now, not that you could ever �""

"Rodney, I'm not babysitting your damned cat."

"Right. Sorry."

Rodney sighed and turned away.

John gritted his teeth. "Fine. I'll feed your cat."

Rodney was already halfway across the room, studying some piece of machinery. "I'll leave detailed instructions." He held up his hand in an aborted wave, which John took as his cue to leave.

"God, I missed that guy," O'Neill said. He nodded his head toward the door. "Ready?"

They walked down a long, grey corridor that looked like any of a hundred military institutions John had ever had the privilege of serving in. That was comforting, in a way. He kept doing double-takes whenever anyone walked by him. He wasn't used to seeing unfamiliar faces �" he knew everyone in Atlantis, backward and forward.

"Any plans?" O'Neill asked.

"Uh, I'm staying at a hotel. In town." Sheppard shrugged. "I'm just …doing tourist stuff, I guess. Haven't been on the planet in a while."

"Boy, do I know how that can be."

Sheppard figured he probably did. Maybe that was why he didn't talk the rest of the way to Medical, giving John some time to adjust. After a few months with McKay, it was nice to be around someone who had mastered the fine art of shutting up.

An hour later, John was given a clean bill of health from the doc, a firm handshake from the general, and a crappy rental car from some guy at the front desk. Standard stuff, just like coming back from any war he'd ever been in.

When he drove outside and saw the sun �" the sun, _our sun, our planet_ �" he started shaking a little. John was familiar with this sensation. Stepping off the plane at LaGuardia after getting back from Afghanistan, he wanted to kiss the ground, filthy as it was, or maybe steal a couple of McDonald's menus, just to soak up all the English.

Of course, that would have just added fuel to the MP's fire, but that was another story.

Even the act of driving was strange; the Taurus was slow and clunky, rattling along the ground, oddly closed off from his mind.

"I'm spoiled," he muttered to himself.

Driving into town was a shock. The sheer _mass_ of people, the advertising …John had forgotten how much damned advertising was all over the place. On autopilot, he parked the car in the Radisson's garage.

He walked up to the desk. The brightly patterned rug, the perky brunette behind the reception desk, and the droning sound of the copier were all more bizarre and dreamlike than the cold, alien hallways of Atlantis.

John had been dreaming about Earth too long for it to be real. God, he needed a nap. And food.

The room was like any other hotel room in the world. Obnoxious teal-and-brown bedspread, crappy coffeemaker, useless fancy chair next to the TV. Typical.

He tossed his duffel and reached for the phone. He was starving.

John made a quick call to room service and hopped in the shower. Mmmm…real showerheads, good shampoo. He washed himself slowly, carefully, luxuriating in the feeling of _time_. Nobody needed him, nobody was in danger because he was taking a little time-out.

He remembered the food and reluctantly turned the water off. He dried himself and strolled naked into his room. Yet another thing he couldn't do on Atlantis, what with the lack of privacy. You never knew when someone was going to burst into your room with another damned emergency. John grinned, imagining Rodney walking in on him in the buff. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't stop talking long enough to notice.

Just as he finished putting on sweats and a t-shirt, room service knocked on his door. Sweet. He tossed the guy some cash, probably more than he should have, but what the hell, right? It's not like he was spending money in the Pegasus Galaxy.

The first bite of his sandwich was heaven. Salty, rich, toasty, _bliss_. He had a mouth full of crispy bacon and crunchy lettuce (he could barely remember the last time he had a vegetable that actually _crunched_) when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"What are you eating?"

"Aren't you supposed to be asking me what I'm wearing?"

"Very funny. What are you eating?"

"Uh," he looked at the menu. "A 'Colorado Club'. Turkey, ham, bacon, Swiss �" do I dare ask why?"

"I'm eating pizza. Oh, God, it's so good."

"Rodney, as much as I'd love to sit here and discuss my lunch with you, was there something else you needed?"

"No, not really."

John settled back onto the bed. It was nice to hear a familiar voice. "I'm surprised you're not having a tender reunion with Lt. Col. Carter."

"Well," Rodney sniffed. "Samantha is a very busy woman."

"Gotcha."

"Okay, yeah, I gotta go. Packing. And do you have any idea how much email I have? Most of it is spam, of course, but I had a few requests for internships. A lot of young astrophysicists want to study with me. I'm like the Mick Jagger of the science world."

"Wow, there are astrophysics groupies?"

"Of course. Don't be ridiculous. Listen, I have to run. Talk to you, uh, later."

The phone clicked abruptly. John sighed. It was going to be a long week.

&gt;&gt;&gt;

The first three days John was on Earth, he did pretty much everything there was to do in Colorado Springs. He ate lunch at Ai Sushi the first day, but the salty smell reminded him of Atlantis. He couldn't quite decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, so he didn't bother going back. He went to a few bars, drank a little, thought about picking up some women, but remembered that he'd have to pretty much lie about his entire life, so he just went home by ten.

He spent one whole day catching up on news and sports. That was kind of satisfying. Man, go to another galaxy and the Red Sox win the World Series. Crazy.

On the third day, he got the hell out of town and into the mountains. He'd apparently accumulated a lot of cash while he was gone, according to the ATM machine. The nice guy at the sporting goods store was happy to take a good chunk of that cash in exchange for some rock-climbing gear and a nice pair of hiking boots.

John only felt a little bit bad about telling the girl at the Garden of the Gods permit office that he was shipping back to Iraq at the end of the week and that he really, really wanted to climb Montezuma's Tower before he left. She managed to slip him a permit and her phone number in about an hour.

For the next few hours, there was nothing else in the world for him except sun, sweat, and rock. Ignoring his shaking leg muscles, he hauled himself up, inch, after inch, into the sky. It was like the cruel cousin of flying; another way to defy gravity by sheer force of will.

By the time he hauled himself to the top, he was shaking all over and gasping in big lungfuls of breath. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't think about anything but the sweet burn of his body. This, this was something he missed from Earth.

Getting down was a pretty shaky proposition, considering the state of his muscles, but he managed it. He was just the right mixture of charming and vague to the girl at the office, and got out of there without breaking her heart or actually committing to a date. All he could think about was a shower, food, and maybe some mindless television. He was a little surprised at how much he'd missed TV.

As he staggered back into the hotel room, his phone rang.

John picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey."

"A Snickers."

"I, uh �" what?"

"I'm eating a Snickers."

"Why didn't I think of that?" John could hear the muffled sound of Rodney rummaging on his desk. "That's going on the list."

"You have a list? No," John corrected himself. "Of course you have a list."

"So I was calling because �" do you think we should go to New Zealand?"

"New Zealand?"

"Yeah, you know, kiwis, rolling hills, _Lord of the Rings_, New Zealand."

"I _know_ what New Zealand is, Rodney, I was just wondering _why_. Did I miss a briefing?"

"No, no, nothing like that …I was just figuring that this might very well be our last time on Earth and I �" I've never been to New Zealand, and�""

"Rodney."

"You never know! We could get, get eaten by a Wraith or killed by a stray bullet, or contract some alien disease, and �""

"McKay!"

"Yeah?"

"Go visit your sister. Her kids can't be all that bad."

"That's what you think." Rodney lapsed into sulky silence. "Fine. I'll leave the key under the mat. Combination code 2-8-5-7-#."

"I'm not sure I even want to know how or why you've computerized your doormat, but okay."

"I'll uh, see you on Sunday."

John was reluctant to hang up the phone. McKay was the only person he'd had any significant contact with since he got to Earth, and that just kind of sucked. He'd forgotten what Earth was really like.

He clenched his jaw. _Suck it up, Major_, he told himself.

"See you later."

John hung up the phone and decided it was time for bed.

He spent Thursday at Peterson, watching the planes.

He spent Friday in bed until noon, getting up long enough to order a pizza and check on Rodney's cat. The doormat was, as John predicted, a fake, hiding a miniature safe.

Even the cat didn't come out to see him.

John felt like a stalker hanging out in Rodney's apartment, so he went back to the hotel to play some Madden and go back to bed.

Saturday, he woke up with a crick in his neck from staring at the TV so much and a pounding headache. He tossed down a few aspirin with a glass of water and walked out on the balcony.

_I'm going home in two more days_, he thought.

He got dressed and drifted around the hotel room for a little bit, then walked down to the parking garage. Even the Taurus was starting to piss him off. No, scratch that. The Taurus pissed him off the second he got into it.

John remembered the big pile of money in his bank account. He smiled. "I have an idea," he said to the Taurus.

Three hours later, he was in heaven. Heaven being, of course, a gorgeous, shiny, candy-apple red nineteen sixty-five Corvette convertible that some mastermind had loaded up with a 396 engine and butter-soft black leather seats.

Driving wasn't quite flying, but in this machine, it didn't matter. John pressed himself against the warm, smooth leather, feeling the vibration of the engine moving up his legs into his chest. The stick shift quivered in his hand, he extended his foot, and before he could brace himself �" Boom! �" he was gone.

Later that night, he lay in bed, his body still humming from the engine and his ass still numb from the vibrations. Life is good, he told himself. _You have a sweet new ride, you're going home soon, you'll see everyone tomorrow_… his gut clenched a little. He hoped they were all still there, safe and sound. He hoped Rodney made it back from Canada safely. He hoped he and Rodney would make it _back_ safely.

His thoughts were interrupted by frantic knocking.

John rose smoothly, assessed the room for potential weapons and cover, slid his gun off the dresser, and called "Who is it?"

"Who the hell do you think it is? Open the door."

Rodney.

He put the gun down and opened the door. Rodney sagged against the frame, looking as tired and weird and adrift as John felt. Judging from his beard and the state of his clothes, he'd come straight here from the airport.

"Rodney?" he asked carefully.

Rodney closed his eyes and pressed them with the palm of his hand. "Nobody likes me on Earth."

"Yeah," John said. "Welcome to the club." He pulled his keys off the desk. "Want to go for a ride?"

Rodney lifted his head and nodded, once. "Yeah."

&gt;&gt;&gt;

John set out without a plan; he just hit the highway and headed away from the city. Rodney was slumped in morose silence next to him. This was unnerving enough for John to strike up a conversation.

"So…the Sox won the Series."

Rodney's chin snapped up. "Don't even _talk_ to me about sports. Have you _heard_ what Bettman has done now? The �" the �" _essence_ of Canadian national identity is being eroded, the _cornerstone_ of athletic achievement is still sitting, metaphorically, of course, in _Florida_." Rodney stabbed his finger vaguely southward. "Have you ever been to Florida?"

"I assume we're talking about hockey?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did our national crisis even make the news down here? Or were the reporters too busy covering Paris Hilton's latest sexcapades?"

John leaned back into his seat, letting Rodney's tirade wash over him. That was more like it.

They drove out into the mountains, through the desert. The glow of the city faded behind them, and there was nothing left but wind and black and stars, and the feel of the engine beneath them.

John pulled off the road onto a scenic stop overlooking the low, scrubby valley. The city shone in the center, like a moon surrounded by the twinkling stars of suburbia. "I miss the stars," he said.

"You know, for an astrophysicist, I spend remarkably little time looking at the stars," Rodney squinted upward. "It's one of those quirks of working in military bunkers."

John stepped out of the car and hopped (gently) up on the car's hood. The metal was still hot through the denim of his jeans. Rodney clambered up beside him.

"I feel like Laurie Hartmann," Rodney announced.

"Excuse me?"

"Laurie Hartmann," Rodney stretched out on the hood with his fingers interlaced behind his head, "was the most gorgeous girl at George Henry. God, I loved her in that short little cheerleading uniform, and when she showed up at the Spring Dance in a red halter top, oh God..." Rodney trailed off in rapt silence.

"And why, exactly, do you feel like the prettiest girl at the prom?"

"Well, duh." Rodney waved his hand around. "It's not exactly Humber Park, and you're not exactly Todd Janczywk, but the idea is the same." He shifted his eyes away from John. "Hot car, good-looking guy, stars overhead…"

John perked up and grinned. In some sort of ambiguous, vaguely insulting way, Rodney was hitting on him. Somehow, this rated as normal for the week. He propped himself up on one elbow. "I'm not exactly Todd, huh?"

"Well, no. You have better hair, though." Rodney tilted his head thoughtfully. "Though I'm betting not so much in high school. Let me guess…mullet?"

"It was the _eighties_ and I played _sports_."

"So I'm taking that as a yes, then."

"And what about you, Rodney?"

"Well." Rodney looked away and cleared his throat. "High school was an awkward time for me, you know. Nobody seemed to recognize the potential earning power and fame that could be achieved by�""

"Rodney, the hair?"

"Yes, well. I liked The Cure, okay?" Rodney fidgeted. "And that's all we'll say about _that_."

Rodney looked so damned disgruntled and the car was still warm and the stars were still gleaming overhead and John was too happy in that minute not to kiss Rodney.

So he did.

He grabbed the back of Rodney's neck, and Rodney nearly slid off the car in surprise, but he caught on quickly, and shoved himself at John to keep his balance. John gasped as Rodney's solid bulk pushed him back against the hood of the car.

Rodney kept threading his fingers through John's hair, not so much kissing him as mumbling into his mouth, "Wow, yeah, okay, yeah," over and over again. John just kept nipping at his lower lip and gently biting his chin when he stopped moving long enough for him to get a shot. The sensation of Rodney's hands in his hair was driving him nuts, and John wondered how long he'd been waiting to do that.

That thought raised the stakes from "making out under the stars" to "oh God, touch me now," so he worked his hand under Rodney's shirt. Rodney hissed as John hit skin, and they both scrambled to get their pants off and stay on the car.

Having superior strength and flexibility served John well, because he had his pants off and his hand in Rodney's shorts by the time Rodney just gotten his zipper down.

"Allow me," he said.

"Like I'd say no," Rodney panted.

He tried to shove Rodney's jeans down a little farther, but his hands were shaking and Rodney was already shuddering with need under him, so he slid his hand back inside Rodney's boxers as soon as he could get the angle. Rodney choked out what might have been his name, got his shit together enough to get into _John's_ shorts, and then, God, it was all a blur from there.

There was nothing in the world better than the feel of hot metal against one palm, hot flesh against the other, and Rodney babbling nonsense into his ear. It was so good, so right, it was_ home_, it was…John shuddered and panted, and Rodney shouted what was definitely _not_ his name and was probably "Major," and it was all over.

John barely had time to catch his breath before Rodney muttered, "Awesome," and rolled off the hood. John got in the car to find him slumped against the passenger side window. "Tired. Long flight," he mumbled and passed out.

He slept all the way back to the hotel. John wasn't sure if he was supposed to bring him back to his apartment, so he opted on the side of hope. He shook Rodney awake. "Hey. We're here."

"Whuh? Oh. Good."

Good, Rodney wasn't questioning the hotel. Excellent. Things were progressing as planned.

Well, as planned as they had been since he'd come all over Rodney's t-shirt. That part had been something of a surprise.

"Do you want to, uh…?" John waved vaguely upwards.

"No, I was hoping we could sit in the car and have a nice, long, awkward silence," Rodney snorted.

"Well, fine. I was just being polite." John got out of the car and slammed the door.

They made their way across the lobby and into the elevator. "C'mon, c'mon," Rodney muttered.

"Talking doesn't make it go faster," John said.

Rodney just shot him a look.

John decided that he liked that look, and he liked that Rodney couldn't sit still, and he really liked that they both still smelled like sex. He was hard again by the time they got to his floor. Rodney must have had the same problem, because he damn near raced him to his room.

"Come _on_."

"Fast as I can," John gritted as he fumbled for the key card.

As soon as the door was opened, Rodney shoved him inside and started fumbling at his zipper. Sheppard nearly tripped over the desk chair, managed to shove the door closed before he lost too many of his clothes, and landed on the bed.

Rodney had him stripped down in minutes flat, but John grabbed him by the arms. "Can we slow down a little this time?"

Rodney raked his teeth down John's bicep. "Why?"

"Because I want to �" hey!" he sucked in a deep breath as Rodney licked his way across his abdomen. Jesus, this was going to be over soon.

John decided that his goddamned combat training had to be good for something, well, _good_, so he maneuvered one knee up and flipped Rodney over. "Now," he said. "We're going to do this _my_ way."

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. "Jesus," he said. John kissed him briefly, then sucked and licked his way down Rodney's chest. Rodney twitched and scrabbled his hands up and down, grabbing the sheets, sliding his palms over John's shoulders, wrapping his fingers around the back of his neck.

John bit Rodney's hipbone; he groaned and hitched his hips up roughly. "If you want this to go slowly, you're doing it really wrong," he gritted out. John probably shouldn't have laughed at that, but he did, and Rodney proved that _he_ had some combat skills by dragging John up the bed, climbing on him, and kissing him senseless.

He thrust against John, breathing raggedly. He pushed John's knees apart and positioned himself …oh, God. John closed his eyes against the sudden jolt of sensation. That felt so damned…Rodney was talking. Why the _fuck_ was he talking?

"Do you? Do you do this?" he was asking.

"No …I mean yeah. I would. I haven't." John gasped.

"Jesus!" Rodney trust against him and came, hard, all over John's hips and stomach. John groaned and tried to push up against him, but Rodney grabbed his wrists and slid down his body. The first touch of hot mouth and tongue undid him, and he came so hard, he choked and coughed and might have stopped breathing.

Rodney flopped down next to him and smirked. "Not bad, huh?"

"Eh. It was okay."

"Next time, try saying that without your voice shaking."

John kicked his leg gently. "Screw you."

"Like I said. Next time." Rodney propped himself up on one elbow. "And, speaking of which, what's up with that? I didn't picture you as the blushing virgin type. I mean," he paused. "You're in the _military_."

"So?"

"So …I don't know, lonely men in uniform and all that. Isn't that like, a cliché?"

"In _porn_, maybe."

Rodney nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's probably where I got it from." He squinted at his watch. "We should get some sleep."

For the first time, John was one step ahead of him.

&gt;&gt;&gt;

The next morning, John woke with a start and nearly reached for his gun when he felt the warm body next to him. Then he remembered and settled back down. Crap. It was getting late. He poked Rodney in the shoulder.

"What?" he mumbled.

"We should get up. We have to get back to Cheyenne Mountain, and you still have to grab your stuff from your apartment."

"Dammit." Rodney burrowed further into the pillow. "You have really crappy timing, you know that?"

"Sorry. Next time, I'll jump you in the Gateroom. Is that better?"

"Next time better be tonight after we get back. And," he flipped over onto his back. "You're helping me pack."

"Shower first," John said as he stretched.

"Don't mind if I do." Rodney hopped out of bed.

"I meant _me_."

"What's that?" Rodney called from behind the closed bathroom door. "I can't hear you!"

"Asshole," John muttered and got up to start packing. He didn't have much, so he was done before Rodney was even out of the shower. He stripped down and went into the bathroom.

Rodney jumped as he jerked back the shower curtain. "I hope you're not seriously looking for shower sex here." He contorted around to put the shampoo back. "My ass is against the soap dish as it is."

John just walked (well, wiggled) further in toward the water. "Nope. I'm actually trying to kick you out."

"Fine, it's working." Rodney gave a last rinse of his hair and stepped out of the tub. "All yours."

"Thank you so much."

They managed to get dressed and get John's stuff into the car without killing each other or getting naked again, and they also managed to get _Rodney's_ stuff into the car without having to rent a trailer.

"What _is_ all this?"

"Oh, you know. Computer stuff. Scientific journals. Food. Porn."

"Gotcha."

They even managed to make it back to Cheyenne Mountain at the scheduled time. General O'Neill was waiting for them.

"Major! How was your vacation?"

"It was…relaxing."

The General nodded. "And did you get to fly any of those, you know," he made a little _shk-shk-shk_ noise and rotated his finger around.

"No, sir." John tried to think of the politically correct thing to say, and then decided that the General didn't seem too politically correct himself. "The Air Force doesn't like me too much. I didn't think I could just waltz into Peterson and start making demands. Sir."

"Well," The General clapped one arm around his shoulder. "_I'm_ in the Air Force and I like you."

"Thank you, sir."

"And the funny thing about being a General in the Air Force is that they tend to give you access to things like, say, helicopters." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's one of the perks of the job. Along with the snazzy office, of course."

John grinned. "Understood, sir."

The General stuck out his hand. "Have a nice trip, Major."

John shook it. "See you soon, sir."

The General nodded at Rodney, who had his arms crossed and was tapping his foot next to the gate. "Better get going."

John saluted and walked toward Rodney. "Are you ready yet?" he snapped.

"Yeah, I'm ready. You okay?"

"Yeah." Rodney blew out a breath and nodded. He looked up to smile at John. "More than ready."

"Let's go home, then."


End file.
